Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The Dog Has Lost Her Mind. And I've lost part of a fingertip.

I've mentioned before that I'm pretty sure Gina is absolutely mental. Her random and sometimes unprovoked barking fits are gonna eventually result in one of us needing psychiatric drugs. Take tonight. Now, look, I realize it feeds every one of Gina's neuroses to be left alone for any length of time. Today, Barbara headed to the train by 7:30. I left to go to the gym by ten 'til eight. Normally, today would have been one where I called Jeff the Trainer and said, "Dude, I've got approximately a million things to do, so we need to move this party to next week." But I already knew that I was missing Thursday's session for the holiday, and today was Jeff's first day back from his honeymoon, so I had missed all of last week, too. Plus, Jeff's really funny, so I felt sure he would have hilarious wedding and cruise stories. (He totally did.). I left the gym at 9 and hit Starbucks, Grocery Store the First and Honey-Baked Ham. By the time I got back it was 10:30 and sometime in all of that Tom had left for his office in town. Kelly was out of town visiting at Cornell and none of the other kids are home yet. This means Gina was alone, because the housekeeper doesn't work on Tuesday. She was freaking out, but had mercifully not destroyed any of the bathrooms which is her usual M.O. when left alone for any amount of time. I cleaned out the garage refrigerator, showered and headed out again. By the time I got home, Gina has spent the cast majority of her day without human company. Perhaps that explains the barking. This was a different flavor of barking from the usual frenetic tirade at the glass door over some perceived, but completely imaginary threat. She was just randomly letting out a bark here and there. So, after dinner is over, I start making the brine for the turkey breast, which I plan on cooking tomorrow afternoon. And here's where the denouement of our little two-person drama occurs. I am at the counter slicing a lemon. Gina has been begging for food since the minute I started to make dinner. I've ignored her utterly. So her final move in the game of Feed Me/I Won't Feed You Stratego involves waiting until it is almost dead silent in the house and walking up right behind me and letting out the most piercing, ear-splitting bark I have ever heard her make. Now remember, I am EFFING SLICING LEMONS. Only then I'm not. Because her idiot decision means I jump a foot and slice a chunk out of my left middle finger. Not a stitches-needing chunk. But one that involved blood. Our story has a happy ending, though. It's about how Gina is about to get a shiny, new collar. The kind with the little device that either buzzes sharply or releases a whiff of camphor when she barks. Because now it involves blood. And that blood is mine.

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